France Meets The RAPEBOT
by ClassyAsBollocks
Summary: Arthur, sick of Francis' constant molestation of him decides to give the Frenchman a taste of his own medicine times ten. Combining his knowledge of the arcane with modern science, he creates a creature with only one purpose: gratuitous, comical ass-handling, and sicks it on Francis. This is the story of how France meets..The RAPEBOT. Also with a dash of Germano. Prepare to go wtf.


**Disclaimer: I don't even know what this is or where it came from. Actually, no, I do know where it came from: That time I smashed my head into the wall as a toddler. Yeah...Read and review my crackfic, mortals! READ AND REVIEEEEEEEW! *rolls to the side to avoid getting shot* HAH! YOU MISSED, HUMPHREY BOGART!**

Arthur Kirkland slammed the door of his oh-so-pristine Victorian (the real, British kind that may or may not have overlapped with Queen Victoria's glorious reign, God rest her soul, not that bullshit American architectural imitation that was faker than Pamela Anderson's tits.) He was furious and red-faced, his clothing was in disarray and there were hand prints all over the ass of his trousers (everyone knows that the physical manifestation of England does not wear pants, but trousers. Perfectly creased and held up by a *gasp* belt! Huzzah.)

"Bloody frog," he swore, bolting his door shut. "I'd like to give that bugger a taste of his own medicine...Ought to give him the old plastic phallic doohicky in the orifice act that he's so fucking fond of..." His thick eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline as he came up with an idea so diabolical, so brilliant, so diabolically brilliant and brilliant in its diabolicalness that it would've made Hitler's remaining testicle shrivel up and die from the force of its sheer diabolical brilliance.

"Oh yes, mark my words Francis, you will rue the day you attempted to finger me in the middle of speech. **RUE IT!" **Arthur cackled madly only to quickly dissolve into a coughing fit. "Oh hell, I've really got to lay off the fags," he mumbled, clumping down the stairs into his cellar where his plan would come to fruition.

One month later, at the next World Meeting, he found himself sitting in his seat an hour before the meeting had yet to begin, looking extremely self-satisfied, a huge grin on his face. Arthur continued to smile even when Francis sat next to him and began with his usual pick-up lines.

"Ohonhonhon," Francis chuckled, blue eyes glinting mischievously. "And what exactly are you so happy about today, Angleterre? Did you perhaps finally manage to cook some of your nasty scones without setting your entire cuisine ablaze?" The Frenchman smirked, his hand snaking around Arthur's shoulders. "Or have you finally decided that you would like to take me up on my offer from last time?" He leaned towards the shorter man, whispering "Je bande pour toi, mon cher."

Arthur merely continued to smile. "Funny that you would say that, frog. I've got one for you as well. Or rather, _that _does." He smirked and jerked his head coolly at the...thing, approaching the two of them.

"Bonjour mon cher. Tu aurais envie de faire l'amour ce soir?" It said as it clunked up the steps. At first glance, the creature ambling toward them merely looked like a robotic version of Francis. However, there were two key differences between it and the nation it so resembled. One, it sounded like Dr. Weird from Aqua Teen Hunger Force and two, it had a two-foot-long steel pseudo-phallus standing at attention and vibrating between its legs so loudly that it sounded like a swarm of enraged killer bees and caused several of the desks to rattle.

Francis' eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "Sacre bleu, what in the world is that?" He gasped, backing up into the wall.

"_This_," Arthur declared proudly, "is what happens when magic and science have an alcohol-induced one night stand and magic winds up pregnant with a hellish abomination that is a cross-breed between an incubus and a horse vibrator but decides against an abortion and instead chooses to drop the aforementioned abomination out of her cervix after a nine-month gestation period. **THIS...IS...RAPEBOT!**" He shouted with a truly epic 300 face before snapping his fingers and nodding towards the apparently demon-possessed automaton. "Go on Rapebot, do what your incubus nature/programming tells you to do," he added cheerfully.

"What an adorable look of terror. I feed off your fear. None are safe from my enormous metal cock. Prepare your arse for vicious entry, frog," Rapebot droned, grabbing the horrified Francis around the waist and bending him over.

"Non!" Francis shouted, struggling violently against the girder-like arms wrapped around his torso. He gasped as his pants were unceremoniously pulled down to his ankles along with his silk (only the best, eh?) boxers, exposing his taut (lightly hairy) ass. "Call this thing off, Arthur!" He demanded. "You cannot do this to me!"

Arthur stared boredly at him and yawned, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back in his chair. "Unless your arsehole is hardened against a tractor piston, you really have no say," he said calmly. "I suggest that you try and grow some lubricating glands in your anus as quickly as possible, or else you're going to end up with a terrible case of rectal prolapsed, a.k.a. an arse tulip," he quipped.

"What-but-" Francis began desperately, only to be cut off mid-sentence by Rapebot burying itself ten inches deep inside of him without warning while flipping his switch to 'pulsate." "**VIVE LE CREPE!**" He screeched, his entire body shaking in sync with Rapebot's huge vibrating dong.

Ludwig sighed as Lovino stomped down the hall of the World meeting building beside him, red-faced and glaring, still miffed that he'd been made to eat wurst and potatoes for lunch rather than his preferred tomatoes. "Why do I stay with this irascible Italian," he mumbled quietly. He ran a hand through his slicked back hair and sighed. "Oh yeah, for the great sex."

Lovino turned his glare on him. "What'd you say, Potato-sucker?" He snarled. "Che palle! Fuck with me and I'll abstain from sex from the next month while you try and pick your swollen blue balls off the floor!"

"Ja, whatever. Everyone knows that you'd be the first one to start masturbating on the toilet within a week," Ludwig said.

"Fuck you!" Lovino snapped, flushing a brilliant shade of crimson.

"Again?" Ludwig raised his eyebrows. "You really are insatiable. We just fucked twenty minutes ago."

Lovino snorted and rolled his eyes. "Si, on a table. In the middle of Denny's while horrified diners watched in a combination of horror and arousal. Seriously, you couldn't have kept your sausage in your pants for a few more minutes," he said irritably. "We almost got arrested for indecent exposure!"

Ludwig frowned as he pushed open the door to the meeting hall. "I didn't hear you complaining when I -Oh mein Gott," he murmured quietly. He began to shut the door as silently as possible, but Lovino pushed him aside.

"What are you hiding from-**OH MIO DIO!**" Lovino screamed, throwing his hands up over his eyes. "What the...dear sweet...**The FUCK am I seeing**?!"

"I...am not sure," Ludwig responded, looking as though he were about to review his lunch menu all over the polished linoleum floor.

What the two of them were seeing was Francis with his ass up in the air being vigorously shagged by a robotic version of himself with a grotesquely oversized phallus while he screamed in a mixture of pain and pleasure, demanding it to go harder and the robot called him a pretty, pretty princess. There was enough semen and motor oil on the floor to impregnate a dump truck, the table that Francis was being pressed into had broken in half from the force of the robot's thrusting and the piston-penis was vibrating so violently that it was beginning to smoke and spit sparks in every direction, which made them seriously concerned for the structural integrity of the Frenchman's rectum, which was already distended in diameter to the size of a grapefruit and was now in severe danger of catching fire from the sparking and the intense friction. It was hard to hell who would give out first: Francis or the robot, although it seemed like Francis would win this battle of...fucking? If it could really be called that...But perhaps worst of all was the fact that Arthur was sitting right there in front of them, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and his camera phone in the other, filming the entire thing and laughing uproariously.

Ludwig and Lovino quietly shut the door, turned around and walked in the opposite direction. They shuffled down the hall in silence for a few minutes, neither of them daring to look at one another. Lovino was the first to speak up, turning to look almost shyly at his boyfriend.

"So...Am I the only one who kinda wants to do it right now?" He asked tentatively.

"Not at all," Ludwig said, and grabbed the shorter man around the waist, pressing him face-first into the wall." Two minutes of awkward fumbling and the sprick of a zipper being undone and then their grunts and screams combined with Francis' to form a beautiful chorus of sex-sounds. At least until they were caught by Alfred ten minutes later, who ran away screaming that his eyes were vomiting and oh-dear Lord-why-didn't-non-Jewish-European-guys-ever-get-circumcised-seriously-their-dicks-looked-like-earthworms-whhhhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?!

**A/N: Francis now keeps Rapebot in his attic for fun times when he can't get a human partner. P.S. Review or Rapebot will pwn your anus. This is all. **


End file.
